Chapter 20
Chapter Twenty
Brittany
My heels click against the sidewalk as I make my way down a street I know by heart.
The Bronx hums around me, familiar and unchanged, neighbors offering quick waves as I pass.
I promised my dad I’d come by today, but that doesn’t stop the nervous flutter in my stomach as his townhouse comes into view.
Coming back here always does this to me.
I climb the cracked concrete steps and take a deep breath as I ring the doorbell, stopping to see if it’s actually going to work. He told me he was going to get it fixed, but I’m not holding my breath. However, much to my surprise, I hear the chime on the other side of the door.
Good job, Dad. You actually fixed something broken about this place.
Hovering in the doorway, I rock side to side, waiting and listening to footsteps.
Finally, after about five minutes of wondering if he’s coming, the door swings open.
I stare up into the face of an older version of Parker—well, minus the blue eyes.
My father has hazel eyes, and his hair is gray rather than blond.
But it’s still clear that Parker is his son.
“Hey, hon,” Dad greets me, opening the door and stepping to the side. “I’m glad you were able to make it today.”
“Of course,” I tell him with a smile as I enter. I note his coat hanging on the rack—the one from the mechanic shop. He works harder than anyone I know—that’s where Parker gets his work ethic from—but managing money has never been his strength.
“How have you been?” he asks, shutting the door behind us and flipping the lock. “I haven’t made it to see your new apartment … I’m sorry about that.”
I gaze back at him. “It’s okay. It’s just an apartment.” I take in the cleanliness of my dad’s older home, breathing in the familiar scent of cinnamon. My dad’s always kept a clean, warm house, even if that’s all he could give us.
“You want a snack and coffee?” Dad offers as we enter into the small kitchen and dining room, a place where Parker and I used to play Monopoly to pass the time.
“Sure,” I tell him. “That sounds good.” Honestly, it really doesn’t, but I know he’ll be offended if I don’t take him up on it. So, I do.
He gets busy with the coffee pot, and I take a seat at the worn table. I run my finger over the scratches in the light oak veneer.
“How’s work?” Dad’s voice drowns out the noise of the coffee brewing. “Going good?”
“Yeah,” I tell him, taking a deep breath and meeting his eyes. “How’s work for you? Still staying busy at the shop?”
He nods, running his fingers along the stubble lining his jaw. “We’ve been real busy lately. I haven’t had much time to relax and watch any of that Netflix I just got.”
“Netflix, huh?” I laugh, shaking my head. “You finally cut the cord and gave up cable?”
He nods. “Turns out it was cheaper and they offer a lot more shows.”
“Yeah, they do.”
Dad turns back to the coffee pot and grabs a couple of mugs and a package of Oreos. I have no idea why my dad thinks Oreos and coffee go together, but he always has. I don’t argue with him, either. I also don’t tell him I need creamer for my coffee when he brings it to me black.
“You used to love eating Oreos with me.” He chuckles, setting it all down at the table and taking a seat. “You never wanted the coffee, though.”
“Well, that’s probably because an eight-year-old shouldn’t be drinking coffee,” I point out, giving him a warm smile.
“Yeah, that’s probably true.” He hesitates. “So … How are you really doing, Brit? Since everything with Cal?”
“I’m … actually doing better,” I admit. “The first few weeks were rough, but it’s gotten easier.” I give a small shrug. “I’ve made some new friends, moved into my own place, and…” I hesitate, then smile a little. “I started painting again.”
His eyes widen. “You did?”
“Yeah. I hadn’t in a long time, but I picked it back up. Just … for me.”
Something shifts in his expression, softer. “You were always good at painting. I never understood why you stopped.”
“Life, I guess.”
He pushes his chair back. “Hang on a second.”
Before I can ask what he’s doing, he disappears down the short hallway. I hear a drawer open, and a moment later, he comes back holding a thin, worn folder.
“Tell me if you remember this.” He opens it carefully and pulls out a painting.
My breath catches.
It’s a painting I did in high school—of the front of this very townhouse. Warm light glows from the windows. The colors are too bold, brushstrokes too sure of themselves.
A version of me who didn’t overthink every choice. Who didn’t build herself around someone else.
“You … kept this?” I ask.
“Of course I did,” he says simply. “You made it for me. It’s been in that drawer since you gave it to me. I always figured I’d hang it when I moved somewhere better.”
My throat tightens. “I can’t believe you still have it.”
He smiles, tapping the corner of the paper. “I was proud of you then, and I’m proud of you now. You’ve always had a way of making something good out of what you were given.”
I swallow, my chest warm and heavy all at once. I spent so long thinking that girl was gone. That she’d been traded in for someone easier, quieter. More convenient.
But she wasn’t gone.
She was just waiting.
“Thanks, Dad,” I say quietly.
He studies the painting for another second, then me … like he’s lining the two up.
“Feels good to have her back, doesn’t it?” he says gently.
I nod, because it does.
He finally slips the painting back into the folder and rests his hand on top of it, staring down at the worn edges like he’s somewhere else for a second.
The kitchen is quiet, filled only with the soft hum of the fridge.
Then he clears his throat and looks back up at me.
“I actually wanted to tell you something,” he says.
“Oh yeah? What’s that?”
“I reconnected with someone.”
I blink. “Reconnected?”
“Yeah.” He rubs his palms together. “Someone from my past. Her name’s Susie.”
My breath stills.
“I knew her years ago. After your mom and I split … she was important to me, but I was too scared to do anything about it.” His mouth tilts in something like regret. “We started talking again recently.”
“That’s…” I search his face. “That’s big, Dad.”
He chuckles quietly. “Yeah. It is.”
“She lives in Florida now,” he adds. “And the more we’ve talked, the more I’ve started thinking maybe staying here isn’t the right move anymore.”
I let that sink in. “So, you’re thinking about moving.”
“Eventually,” he says. “If things keep going the way they are.”
“How long have you known her?”
“About ten years.” His voice softens. “She tried to convince me to give it a real shot back then, but I kept making excuses. Told myself I wasn’t the kind of man who could make something like that work.” He exhales. “Turns out I was just scared.”
My chest tightens. “I’m glad you’re not running from it this time.”
He meets my eyes. “Me too.”
“It’ll be weird to not see you here.” I have to be honest with him, even if I understand.
He nods. “I know, but you and Parker don’t need me. You haven’t needed me for a long time. If anything, I needed you.” He lets out a chuckle, his cheeks growing slightly red.
“Do you think we could meet Susie?”
A smile spreads across his face. “She’d love that. She’s been asking about you and Parker for years.”
“Years?” I tease.
“She’s patient.” He shrugs, shifting in his seat. “Actually, she’s coming to town soon.”
“Oh?”
“For Weston’s birthday party.” He grins. “Your brother’s friend. Amy called me with an invite. I couldn’t believe it!”
I raise my eyebrows, trying to ignore the way my stomach drops “Oh.” I haven’t gotten an invite. I try not to let it bother me, and I don’t tell my dad that I might not be there. I don’t want to ruin his excitement with my own disappointment.
“I think it’ll be fun,” he tells me. “It’s nineties themed. I’ll be bringing Susie as my plus one. She’s already working on her outfit, and we just got the invite this morning.”
I laugh. “That’s great, Dad.”
We spend the next hour talking about work and family, and I do my best not to be bothered by the fact that I haven’t been invited to Weston’s birthday, but my dad has. I can’t help but wonder if I did something wrong.
Was it because I hung up on Parker and never called him back? My stomach churns with nerves as I finally tell my dad goodbye and catch the rideshare car waiting for me outside. The sky opens up with rain as I shut the passenger back seat door and lean my head against the seat.
Ugh. Why am I not invited?
But before the thought can penetrate further, my phone begins to ring. With a sigh, I fish it out of my jacket pocket, seeing Amy’s name lighting up the screen. Hope fills my chest.
“Hey!” She’s as bubbly and bright as ever.
“Hi, Amy,” I reply, buckling my seatbelt. “What’s up?”
“I was just wondering how much you love the nineties? And if you’d want to come to Weston’s birthday party? I was trying to make it through my list this morning, but I got caught up with work for a while.”
I smile, relief flooding my chest. “Yeah, of course. Just send me the details and I’ll be there.” My heart skips a beat as I realize, not only will I be meeting Susie, but I’ll also be seeing Weston for the first time since we started writing each other secret letters.
And that has me feeling all sorts of ways as Amy lays out the details.
By the time I make it back to my apartment, I’m giddy with excitement, and when I open my mailbox and see a letter waiting on me, my smile only grows wider.
Brittany,
I tried to find some cool holiday for this day, but Google failed me.
I promise I’ll do better next time. I’m sure you probably know by now, but I’m having a birthday party.
Well, Amy and Parker are throwing me one.
The whole thing seems excessive, but it’s fine.
Maybe it’ll be fun. I hope to see you there.
As far as my childhood, it was actually pretty good.
I grew up in California (tragically, considering I can get a sunburn in about four minutes tops).
I was an only child. My parents worked on film crews, so they were gone a lot when I was growing up.
I spent most of my time with our nanny, who basically helped raise me.
She was a huge part of my life, and losing her when I was seventeen was … really hard.
My parents, though, are still together—over thirty years now.
They’ll be the first to admit it hasn’t always been easy, and they’ve definitely had seasons that were messy and complicated, but they also swear it was all worth it.
Somehow, they’re more in love now than they were when I was a kid.
I guess growing up watching them choose each other over and over again made me believe that kind of love can actually exist.
Which might explain a lot about me.
I used to go to Florida sometimes with my parents. It was a blast, but the surfing was terrible. You should ask me about the one time I almost drowned. It’s hilarious.
I’ll see you in nineties garb … Hopefully.
Yours truly,
Weston
P.S. The Superman cape is definitely your color. But if we’re being transparent, I think every color might be.